


Golden Birdcage

by The_Exile



Category: StreetPass Battle, StreetPass Garden, StreetPass Quest, StreetPass Squad
Genre: AU, Alien Abduction, Ghost/human relationship with implied sex, M/M, all hail Spatula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Exile/pseuds/The_Exile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Diggory of Laplaza is always being abducted but not usually by aliens. When the Captain of the Guard, Sir Samuel Forstenzer, tries to find out what is going on, he becomes involved in the court intrigue of the sinister gardener Mr. Mendel and overenthusiastic General Wentworth. Framed for the abduction and banished from Laplaza, he finds help from the most unlikely of allies - the Ultimate Ghost himself!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. King Diggory's Nice Dream

His Highness King Diggory la Plaza still thought of him every night, as he lay alone in his chambers. As he drifted off to sleep, he would dream about that chill hand caressing his face, then sliding downwards, bringing a shiver down his spine as that sharp, slim fingernail ran ever so lightly across his flesh like the tip of an icicle. It was a refreshing coolness, one that stopped him burning up from the raging fever that his mind always seemed to be in these days, but it held an edge of danger to it. Those claws could drain his life away if they ever moved just an inch in the wrong direction, and they often seemed to deliberately dig in just enough to cause pain, maybe even to draw a drop of blood that froze before it could run down his cheek. It reminded him that he was still alive, that he still existed in the world enough to feel pain, that he had not yet slowed down enough to halt to a standstill. 

Sometimes he thought of the conversations they had in the darkness, and the words that had been whispered into his ear like a biting gale through the cracks in stone:

"You should consider my offer," he would whisper, "I know you want to. I can feel the way your skin flushes, how your heart beats faster when you think of it. But you don't shy away. You're not afraid, like another would be."

It was a tempting offer. To complete the final ceremony that would transform him into a Lich, an eternal lord of darkness. It was the highest form of Undead, a fate reserved only for royalty, and it would mean he could be with Eugene forever. That was not why his heart beat so fast, though.

"My Kingdom would never allow it," Diggory would reply, "They would see it as a heresy, as a dark abomination... they would judge me unfit to be King, maybe even execute me, or worse, blame you for putting the idea in my mind, and persecute you even more. They are not so understanding as I of certain things. Not yet."

"Do you have so little control over what they will say, and what they will do? I thought you ruled them.”

“It isn't the same with a mortal Kingdom,” said Diggory, thinking of the hordes of ghouls and skeletons that scurried about their business all over the Labyrinth, polishing flagstones, putting signposts back in, resetting traps and exterminating pests such as adventurers. The Labyrinth was always lively, especially at the dead of night, and it was always clear who was in control.

“You should learn a thing or two from us, if you ever want a taste of true power. You wouldn't last a night as a Lich.”

“I do not wish to become a despot,” he whispered, “And it was you who taught me about the silent power of surrender to destiny.” A shudder of passion ran down his slender frame, and his voice came out a faraway whisper, as of one possessed. 

"I hope you will make up your mind soon. I fear for you. I could lose you at any time. It is like watching a candle burn away without even a lantern cover to guard it from the wind," his lips brushed against Diggory's ears, teeth touching them ever so briefly, so sharp that he still felt their imprint.

"It is strange to hear you speak ill of darkness."

"I am the one who lights the candles down here," he reminded Diggory, "It is I who feels the greatest loss when they are spent."

"Is that who I am to you, then? Another element of this dungeon to be balanced to your liking, like a candle or a sign post?"

“Labyrinth, not dungeon,” he corrected, his whisper a little too harsh, “Your words hurt me when you speak so.”

“You know I didn't mean it. But I wish we could meet like civilised human beings, one day, in a situation when I do not have to pretend to be kidnapped. I hate it in the cage. I get a cramp in my neck.”

While it was demeaning and uncomfortable, he only spent a few minutes each time in the cage, whenever adventurers broke in, and the door wasn't actually locked. It was also the safest place to be during a raid by the unruly cat-headed mercenaries, when spells and arrows were being thrown around, as the wards surrounding it were designed to protect him, not to contain him. His cover story was that the 'Ultimate Ghost' (His Ultimacy the Final Guardian Eugene) needed royal blood, specifically his own, for a ritual sacrifice that would unleash a plague of Undeath upon the entire world, but up until now, the adventurers had appeared before the lengthy preparations for the ritual could be completed. He pretended that he had been kept in a cage, watching the knives being sharpened and the pentagrams being drawn and the skulls being arranged in the right places, thinking only of his impending death, and that the trauma had left him shaken and pale. In reality, he was always like this, but nobody paid close enough attention to his everyday life to notice. And the only Forbidden Blood Ritual of Necromancy that was being prepared in there, apart from those keeping the various elements of the labyrinth alive, intact and/or in working order, was the one that he was afraid he would have to discuss every time they met. Or worse, that he would arrive one day to be told he had run out of time. 

“Diggory, dearest, it's time for you to wake up,” whispered Eugene.

“Are they here so soon? You said we would have longer this time,” he complained. The Labyrinth had been extended and new guardians hired, in preparation for some sort of visiting delegate from the Guild, a Senior Final Guardian. I know more about Labyrinth politics than I do about my own court, Diggory realised, I'm already turning into a Final Guardian.

“Not adventurers. I really think you ought to wake up now...”


	2. King Diggory's Rude Awakening

A bright light was flashed in his eyes, he heard hoarse yelling and what sounded like alarm bells, and Diggory woke up to find himself behind cage bars again. This was not the familiar giant birdcage that hung above the spire of the Grand Crypt Labyrinth – place he had not visited for years - but a cage of gleaming metal with bars of solid red light that burned him when he experimentally ran a hand over them. It was only his innate familiarity that told him they were cage bars to begin with, this place he found himself in was so otherworldly in sight and smell.

There were skeletons, but not the unliving denizens of the Ultimate Ghost's lair. Their skulls were metal masks, and they had living eyes in there, although he wasn't sure they were human eyes. One of them, the one that Diggory quickly identified as their leader, leered down at him. His skull was made of solid gold.

He began cackling manically, a voice more like a suit of armour being struck by lightning than a person, and Diggory felt his blood run cold. 

“King Diggory la Plaza, yes?” he asked in a wheedling voice like ball-bearings rolling down a very large drain, “Glad ye woke up. I feared my idiot crew had killed ye. Damaged goods doesn't make fer a good ransom, and I'm expectin' a King's ransom for this haul! They call me the Gold Bone, by the way. I'm sure ye've heard of me. Captain of the most feared pirates in the galaxy, scourge of the seven starlanes! Yer entire puny planet will learn to fear my wrath! Ye're the first, but soon, soon...”

“Boss! Kettle's boiled!” said a slightly more rusty voice from down the corridor. 

“Just leave the tray on the side!” the Captain yelled back, “Ahem, as I was saying. Nation by nation, I shall own all yer worthless rock's rulers, and I'll sell em to me friends in low places, and nothing will come between meself and plundering all of yer resources...”

King Diggory wanted to ask why the pirate would want the resources of a worthless rock, and what a 'starlane' was, and to point out that he had a strategian in his court called Grand Master Wentworth who talked just like him, and was also a frothing megalomaniac, and if he wanted to randomly abduct valuable officials, could he take the old man away and never bring him back, but he found that trying to clear his throat of the several weasels that appeared to have taken residence inside it only caused him to inhale a few more of them.

“Earl Grey or Darjeeling?”

“Earl Grey, please,” he said, before waiting a few moments for the dramatic tension to be right, then cackling maniacally again.

“That's nice. I'll put out an extra cup for the guest!”

Captain Gold Bone facepalmed, a process that looked like it would have hurt both his hand and his face, “Look, I be apologisin' for me crew and their complete lack of ability to even vaguely resemble pirates... but I swear to ye, we are the most fearsome, black-hearted...”

“Should I put out the lace doilies?”

“... And ye are NOT gettin' a cup of tea! Absolutely not! A pirate don't give, he takes! Why, if ye was a girl, or at least a pretty boy, an' I hadn't accidentally botched me full borg conversion so it wasn't exactly full, I'd right here an' now...”

Diggory was disheartened to hear that he wasn't a pretty boy. I'm not getting any younger, he realised, running a hand over his worry-lined face. What terrified him more than his encroaching, inevitable mortality was the creeping realisation that, if he didn't supply the Kingdom with an heir soon, a suitable wife would be chosen for him as an emergency measure. 

“Ha! Ye're shakin' in yer boots! I knew ye'd come round to realisin'... SKULLY! STOP THAT!” 

A tea trolley was wheeled into the room and a dainty bone china cup appeared in front of his face, somehow fitting precisely through the bars. He accepted it gracefully. It made him feel better, and soon the thick fog in his brain began to dissolve into a warm ocean, softly illuminated by a lighthouse of caffeine.

“Hostages don't get tea!” said Gold Bone, trying to pull the tea tray away from the cage rather unsuccessfully. He was clearly concerned about upsetting the tea tray, not having poured himself a cup of tea yet, and owning a lot of very expensive chinaware, and being so close to a force field that cut through anything it came into contact with like cheese wire through cheese. King Diggory grabbed the teapot before it tipped over.

“He's taking the teapot hostage!” yelled the pirate with the trolley.

“What did I tell ye? This is your own fault, Skully, ye've brought doom upon our entire ship!” the Captain roared down his earhole.

Infuriated by an accusation of such an uncivilised act as threatening harm to an instrument of tea-making, for any reason, King Diggory scowled at the pirates, righting himself so that he was at least sitting up, his back straight, head held high, his features an imperious mask. Or, at least, he hoped that was what it looked like. Extending a hand in the way he would knight someone or ask them to kiss his ring, he returned the teapot.

“I have but two demands, and I ask you to heed them as a gentleman, whose teapot I have just rescued,” he said, “Firstly, I ask you to brew the tea less in future, Earl Grey is a sharp taste that does not appreciate overbrewing, and secondly, where are my biscuits?”

“Biscuits? Ye face the Gold Bone himself and ask fer biscuits?” he threw his head back and guffawed like a blender, “Ye've got stones, I tell ye that! But, unfortunately, ye're in no position to be makin' demands... ye see, I've already found a buyer... the ship's preparing to warp even now, and soon ye'll be...”

“Um... boss?”

“What now?”

“Is the warp drive the plug with the green tape on it?”

“No, the red. The green's the bovine abduction ray.”

“Oops.”

“What d'ye mean, oops?” 

“Well, I had to unplug something to plug in the kettle, and thought, seeing as Thursday's not steak night...”

“Not again! Do ye know how long those things take to power up again?” the Captain threw a teaspoon at him, “Argh... I really do apologise... could ye bear with us fer a while? I've got a phone call I need to make...”

“... Is the phone the yellow tape?”


	3. Samuel's Suspicion

The Laplazan Palace was in uproar.

Of all the various courtiers, important visitors, guards, chamberlains, maids, psychotic strategists and other assorted palace staff, it was Sir Samuel Forstenzer, Captain of the Royal Guard, ordained Paladin of Spatula, Goddess of Defeat, and personal bodyguard of the King, who was the most to blame. Unlike most of the others, he was not panicking, pointing fingers at others to prevent them from taking the blame first, or using the sudden disappearance of the King as a convenient excuse to push some kind of personal political agenda, such as Grand Master Wentworth and his obsession with plunging the Kingdom into war. No, his first priority was to find the King, and quickly.

“... Undoubtedly those Southern mountain barbarians pushing their luck again! I've seen them, slowly extending their borders when they don't think I'm watching, when they don't think I have scouts everywhere! Everywhere!” ranted Wentworth.

“Are you talking about us?” hissed Lady Purrfidy Greypaw, the Gremalkin Ambassador and head of the most successful local adventurer company. Her ears were flattened against her head and her short grey fur stood on end. While they remained civil to each other in the palace, under the duress of courtesy, it was no real secret that Wentworth considered the Gremalkin adventurer-mercenaries to be nothing but barbarians with pretty eyes and shiny coats, loyal only to coin and hardly better morals-wise than the 'enemy'. In fact, sometimes it was hard to tell which enemy Wentworth was talking about.

“From the amount you drain from our coffers, I should hope not,” said Wentworth, “Should your heroic band of adventurers not be out rescuing the King? Sir Forstenzer, my vast armies could easily...”

“I told you, His Majesty isn't in the Crypt!” she snarled, glaring at her second-in-command, a red-robed, sullen-faced wizard-monk of Qwergy, the Mad God of the Underworld, who had cast the tracking spells to locate the King, “We can check for that easily by now! What do you expect me to do? He may as well have vanished into thin air! My mage's scrying can span the entire continent!”

“The Eastern marauders, then! We should mobilise our navy this instant...”

“Quiet!” roared Samuel, thumping his plated gauntlet against a marble pillar. He was an imposing man, towering over any of the other guards, his eyes fiercely alert like a bird of prey as he watched his liege fanatically for any possible threat. As always, Samuel wore a white tabard with the symbol of a setting sun over his breastplate. In itself, his choice of deity unnerved many who did not understand the Lady of Surrender and the concepts and ideas she stood for. Only the cat-folk, particularly the priest of Qwergy, did not seem impressed by him, but then he was no expert on reading feline faces.

“These arguments do not find our King! We do not have time for them, or for mobilising armies!” he declared, “Consider the facts: the King went missing only fifteen minutes ago. A mortal abductor wouldn't have been able to leave the city with him in that time, never mind the continent. However, your mage didn't find the King or any residue of a teleportation spell being cast. Brother Sylvester, have you checked the other realms, apart from mundane?”

“He is not in the Underworld,” hissed the black-furred, chewed-eared old cat. 

“That's... reassuring to know. What of the other spirit worlds?”

“None that my Lord has any dominion over. There are thousands. Try checking your own Lady's realms.”

It was a wise idea, as most of the mage's ideas were, unpopular though he was. Spatula had given him more dreams that usual, of late, most of them not peaceful. Maybe she would also be willing to share a vision with him.

“The spell could have been cloaked, if the wizard was powerful enough,” he added, “But that rules out the Ultimate Ghost. He never bothers with such subtleties. He's been abducting the King consistently for three years, there's no reason for him to change tactics now, if he is even powerful enough to.”

“His leaving the palace must have been instantaneous,” said the Guard Captain, “I was watching him the whole time. He went out for a night-time walk in the garden to soothe his nerves. He stepped into a gazebo, he was obscured by a pillar for a split second, then he didn't come out, and when I poked my head around the corner, he'd vanished!”

“I don't trust those plants!” declared Lady Perfidy. Nobody trusted the new plants or their highly specialised gardener, except Wentworth, who was hoping he would be allowed to grow more of the ones with razor-sharp blades for leaves, so that he would have an entirely renewable and fast-growing source of weapons, “Plants shouldn't glow in the dark. They shouldn't grow whole cakes as fruit. Those things with teeth probably ate the King.”

“I certainly hope not! But, being clearly magical, could they have confused a magic detection spell?”

“He's right. We need to step into the garden and try again, closer so that we have a more precise readout, and taking into account any effect that the plants are having,” said Sylvester.

“Prepare offensive spells, I'll summon the excursion party,” said Lady Perfidy, “I really don't trust those plants!”

“I need to prepare myself spiritually for a commune with Spatula,” said Sir Forstenzer. The head maid glared at him. She knew he was going to steal a wooden spoon from the kitchen again. He would meet fierce opposition if he was caught!

As each of them filed out of the court, the guards keeping close watch on the courtiers, half out of continued suspicion, half to protect the non-combatants in case the abductor was still there, looking for more victims, only Wentworth remained behind. He pretended to be gathering up complicated-looking maps and styluses he had deliberately strewn over his podium so that he could spend a long time clearing them up again. After a few minutes, a figure appeared from behind the gigantic pot plant, a festive affair whose colourful baubles were actually the plant's hard, round seed cases, glinting in the low candle-light.

“Everything is in place,” said Wentworth, “It is time for you to go ahead with the next stage.”

“Ah, but can you keep your part of the bargain?”

“Now that you have sown the seeds of war, I know just the fertiliser,” he grinned, “Don't you worry. Leave my job to me and concentrate on your own.”

“Don't think I am ignorant. I am watching you.”

“Your expression of trust is mutual, Mr. Mendel. Now, we must move quickly, before they begin to suspect. I regret that we do not have time to watch the fruit of our handiwork grow.” Wait, why am I the one making all the plant puns, thought Wentworth. The stories about him were right. He is as infectious as a seed blowing on the wind. I must take care not to lose myself in the charm of that unassuming smile of his and those too-radiant blue eyes.


	4. Samuel in the Garden

King Diggory had always preferred the ones that lit up at night – the soft, warm glow of the Goldenglow, the weird fey luminescence of the Neonara and the sparkling golden shimmers of the Sparklestar that cascaded across the waters of the fountains like reflections of the stars. His Highness was a nocturnal fellow who valued his peace and quiet, and the cheerful little lights emitted by the plants always lifted his mood when he was out on his night-time strolls. If Sir Forstenzer wanted to know where he had gone, it was usually best to follow the avenues of Goldenglow trees that Diggory had ordered to be planted along the main route up to the gazebo.

_Please help me, Spatula, the thing most important to me in the whole world has been taken away from me, and I don't have the first clue how to go about taking it back..._

He softly hummed a hymn to Spatula under his breath as he walked, a bittersweet melody that brought him the inner peace of surrender, into the space inside his mind that was dark, but comfortingly so. He felt himself moving with the rhythm instantly, maybe more quickly than he would have liked, falling too far into that dark nexus. He tried to steady himself, so that he would not fall completely into a vision-trance and leave himself open to any enemies that might still be there. Inside his trance, he felt as though he were looking at the world from somewhere far away, maybe looking upwards from the inside of a deep well. Everything swam lazily past, the colours smudged into each other as though the illusion that reality was something starkly defined had been shattered. Only the music was clear, pinpoints of sensation like stars, his mind flaring up in joyous response to the stimulus. The lights of the glitteria-genus plants shimmered in that sky of perception as well. They were faintly pulsing in a way that Samuel knew was supposed to indicate they were something significant.   
_  
Great Lady, what is it you want me to see? What are you trying to show me?_

 _Don't trust the lights,_ whispered a woman's voice, ageless and eternally sad, _Don't trust the stars they point to. But don't hide from them. They have taken from you, and they are coming back to steal more._

_I can't fight the stars, Lady, I'm only mortal..._

_Not on your own, you can't, but you have allies in places you don't even realise..._

_It feels I can't trust anyone or anything around me, these days._

_Then you must look further afield,_ she told him, _And you must set off now, before you're forced to do so anyway. Let me help you up now, you can't just hide down there._

_I don't even understand what I'm hiding fr..._

Before he could complete his sentence, a pale, bony hand grabbed his arm and hauled him upwards, while a face like the emaciated, drowned corpse of what was once a beautiful raven-haired woman peered down at him with eyes that burned like the last vestiges of a once-great Empire. He was flung sharply upwards until he broke the surface of the water, and fell free of the vision at the same time. He heard the other priest yell at him, then very soon realised why – he had fallen into the fountain. Sylvester grabbed him by the arm and helped him to climb out, but then he stopped and peered down into the fountain, his teeth bared, all his fur standing on end.

Staring up at him from the water, and now climbing out, was King Diggory. He shook himself down and stared vacantly at the bewildered Paladin as though he had no idea what all the fuss was about.

“Your Highness! Did you hit your head? Were you in there for long? I must escort you to the healer-priests before you catch your death of cold!”

The King continued to stare at him uncomprehendingly. He didn't look particularly ill, or even all that flustered. He looked more like someone who had fallen asleep on a bench and then been softly woken up from a nice dream than someone who had fallen into a fountain and almost drowned. He allowed himself to be led back into the palace grounds, and was indifferent to the overenthusiastic prodding and poking of the healers who occasionally even tested Forstenzer's military levels of patience and discipline. The expression on his face was even more vague than it usually was as he idly observed the people around him, as if they had nothing to do with him. That unnerving level of impassivity reminded Samuel of someone, but he couldn't remember who. What with the vividity of the vision, the sudden jolt of falling into the fountain, the shock of seeing his King reappear as if from nowhere, and now this sudden change in personality, his mind felt weary, too confused to care any more. As soon as the healers actually stood aside to allow him to move, the King began to walk briskly down the corridor towards the throne room, and Sir Forstenzer hurried to keep pace.

“Are you sure you're well enough to attend court right this moment, Your Highness? You don't seem quite yourself...” began Samuel. He didn't know why, but he jumped backwards as though attacked when King Diggory stopped, turned around on the spot and regarded his protector with eyes that lacked emotion.

“You presume to judge my capability?” he asked, his voice dry, “You think me... what... insane?”

“Of course not! It was just that an accident like that can drain the life out of a man, and court is a more cut-throat place than usual at the moment, especially with the chaos caused by your apparent disappearance...”

“Did I disappear?” he asked, “Who is it that wishes me to disappear?”

“Nobody, Your Highness, but they all blame each other, and jump to conclusions...”

“Who is to blame, then?”

“Um... nobody, Your Highness, seeing as it didn't actually... you know... happen,” Samuel gave him a confused look that was instantly returned, “If anything, it was my fault, for not protecting you from harm at all times, as I am charged...”

“Oh, then you are responsible for my disappearance,” he said, “You shouldn't do that, you know. Allow Kings to disappear at a time of crisis such as the one you speak of.”

“I apologise from the bottom of my heart, Your Highness, and I shall do whatever I can do atone for my...”

The King whirled around again, ignoring him, and began covering the rest of the distance to the throne room, not even noticing when a maid struggled to move out of his way in time and accidentally dropped a basket full of laundry on the floor. He flung the door open with a strength and decisiveness that Samuel had not known him to possess.

The court went silent as he strode in.

“I have returned alive and well,” declared King Diggory, walking up to his throne and placing himself on it in a rather lacklustre way, “And, for his negligence, the one who allowed me to disappear... Sir Samuel Forstenzer... is banished permanently from this court and this land!”

“I... what?” Samuel choked on the breath he was about to take. There were muted gasps and expressions of shock all around the court, although he noticed that neither Wentworth or Mr. Mendel looked even vaguely surprised.

“You heard me! Leave, you liability, and do not ever return! The Sunset Snappers protect me better than you do in any case!” 

Another plant, Samuel realised, a giant Venus Fly Trap with the beginnings of intelligence. He'd just been replaced by a plant, and received a punishment second only to death in its harshness for a crime that didn't even exist. There was no doubt about it: King Diggory had lost his grip on sanity. And there was now no way he could be there to help him through that madness without almost certainly being executed. A mad King on the throne, an insane advisor, a gardener who somehow terrified him, and there was nothing he could really do.

He remembered his Goddess' words, _You must look further afield, and you must set off now._ Then he shrugged and walked without ceremony out of the front doors.


	5. Samuel in Exile

He didn't like it, but Samuel could easily survive in the wilderness. He could defend himself against wild animal, bandit and less mundane threat alike – the forest was haunted by the Ultimate Ghost's ghoulish minions – and he knew how to hunt and set up shelter. It would do, while he bided his time in exile, decided what he was going to about his situation, maybe have a wander, guided only by Spatula's mercy, until he found what he was looking for. He didn't intend to be out here for long.

He threw another branch on the fire and turned the spit that he was roasting a rabbit on. The darkness was setting in, and it would soon be too cold to keep walking, the night predators better able to see in the dark than him. He already had a shelter built for the night. Now that he had time to think, it had occurred to him that the man currently on the throne, if it was even a person, wasn't King Diggory. There was no way that someone would change so dramatically that he became completely unrecognisable in mannerisms or personality to the one who had spent ten years closely protecting him. If it was the King, something had been done to him, some kind of insidious, evil sorcery that affected a person's mind so strongly that they acted completely out of character. He was not simply going insane the way that people did sometimes. Samuel had been watching for insanity in him for a long time now – it wasn't exactly unthinkable, the way he acted when he was his normal self – and, in all the situations he had mapped out, using the trends he had noticed so far and taking them to the kind of extreme that happened when a person was pushed off the edge of sanity, there was still no reason why he would act like this.

If the person on the throne was not King Diggory at all, then the real King was still missing, probably being held captive somewhere by a force that had very malicious intentions towards the Kingdom. If it was the King, but someone was controlling him or manipulating him magically, then he was still in danger. Samuel had no idea who would be doing such a thing, other than his suspicion that it was someone working inside the court, someone who would know the King's routine well enough to be able to catch him alone in the open for a second. It would have to be someone as close to the King as he was, or at least someone who would go unnoticed for long periods of time while in a position to watch the King's comings and goings. He couldn't think of many people. Some of the maids and butlers, maybe, and the higher ranking Royal Guards. And perhaps the gardener. He had never trusted the gardener in the slightest. If it wasn't for the King's love of the plants that he grew from seeds imported from far away lands, under conditions it seemed impossible for anyone else to reproduce, Samuel would have insisted that Mr. Mendel leave. He did not trust Wentworth either, but it was more difficult to oust a revered strategist. The truth was, he had no evidence that either of them had done anything wrong. He could prove nothing about the others in that throne room that couldn't be proven of himself – and, as he had just been banished disgracefully in front of the entire room, he looked the most in the wrong. 

There was nothing for it but to sneak back into the palace, either in disguise or unseen. He wasn't sure how he would do that – stealth and deception weren't skills that a Paladin or a Royal Guard had much training in. He didn't consider such behaviour beneath him, as many of the more pompous, chivalry-obsessed Knights did – when it came to protecting his King, his personal honour was trivial by comparison – but he doubted he would succeed.

But he was an exile now, and an exile was the sort of person who needed to learn how to live outside the laws and comforts of civilisation. Maybe this was the opportunity provided to him by Spatula – to learn how to be an outcast, now that those closest to the court could no longer be trusted.

Well fed and warmed by the fire, he became drowsy. He decided to settle down in his shelter that he had made under a bush, so he could sleep while he was not forced to drop from exhaustion, when he would not be able to wake up if he was attacked in the night. Five minutes later, as he felt himself drift into a surprisingly deep sleep, he realised someone had grabbed him, put a bony hand over his mouth and was dragging him with surprising efficiency away from his shelter. His immediate attempt to escape revealed that his captors were twice his size and had superhuman strength, so he didn't have time to achieve anything before he was thrown into a cage. He screamed an oath, promising Spatula's divine vengeance, and white-hot fire poured from his soul. Glaring at his targets and releasing his hold on the wells of holy magic, he let them erupt from his body entirely, streaming in columns across the forest. He hit two of the figures holding his cage and they hissed in voices like death rattles before dissolving into two piles of grey ashes. The cage clattered to the ground and he used the force of the fall to kick the door open. Springing from the cage, he grabbed his sword from the floor and was halfway across the clearing before they even caught up with him. This time he was ready for a fight. He could see all of his attackers now, five Armoured Ghosts, seven Reapers, six Mummies and an Armoured Archfiend. An impressive reception party for a lone Paladin... unless the Ultimate Ghost's armies just happened to be coming that way at the time, say, to invade a castle that was suddenly in a state of upheaval with a reduced guard. Now he was absolutely sure who was behind it all, no matter that he hadn't been able to find a single trace of necromantic magic in the Palace.

Well, he was still strong, allies or no, and he could take this rabble. Or at least reduce their numbers enough to force them to retreat for now. His life was worth it, to protect the King. It was the way it had always been.

“As if you didn't have better things to do than waste your life in a hopeless battle,” said the Armoured Archfiend, his dull clank of a voice echoing across his hollow plumed helmet. The enormous haunted suit of heavy plate mail strode slowly towards him, spiked warhammer hefted over his shoulder. Samuel had never heard of the Ultimate Ghost's most dreaded General negotiating with anyone before, even in such a sarcastic tone.

“I was ordered just to take you in, so my master could have a good long talk with you in private, but I'm not chasing you around the forest all night while you slowly kill off all my men. So I'm going to ask you nicely, just this once. My master knows of your current predicament, and he shares a vested interest in your success right now, more than you can possibly imagine.”

“What in Spatula's name are you raving about? You abduct my King repeatedly! You just tried to kidnap me!”

“Purely in order not to raise suspicions about you. What do you think would happen to you, already an exile, if you were seen openly negotiating with the Undead? But you seem to have thwarted all our attempts not to make you look absolutely ridiculous,” he shrugged, an oddly human expression. 

Samuel sighed, lowering his own sword, “This is what Spatula warned me about, isn't it? This is exactly the sort of ridiculous situation she'd put me in...” 

As he spoke his Goddess' name, he felt suddenly light-headed, even giddy, and he saw her in his mind's eye, smiling that smile that could sometimes be so gentle as she granted him the reward of that inner peace he lived his life to seek. 

“I'll pretend to surrender,” he said, “No... I might as well actually surrender. I'm surrounded and outnumbered, and it won't be the least dignified thing I've done today.”


	6. Encounter with Eugene

Samuel was led blindfolded down a series of winding corridors and steep spiral staircases, a route that seemed to involve impossible amounts of downwards travel, until he could see the blackness through his blindfold, sense the difference in the air pressure, and wondered if they would be at the centre of the planet by the time they stopped. The path they took wasn't the standard route that adventurers used when exploring the Labyrinth, as he hoped it would be. They doubled back on themselves and turned him around deliberately, so that even with his fairly good memory and sense of direction, he was thoroughly lost. There was no way he could find his way out of this subterranean nightmare, even if he escaped from his captors. Giving himself up suddenly seemed like a stupid idea; the Armoured Archfiend could easily have made up the story just to convince him to let his guard down, so he could throw him off a ledge into a volcano or something. No, it didn't feel hot enough for there to be a volcano here. In fact, the air was growing colder, unnaturally so. He could smell something foul and the air felt clammy. He wondered if they had led him into their latrine. Then they took off the blindfold and he found himself staring face to face with the Ultimate Ghost. 

He had never seen where the Ultimate Ghost actually lived – they had always fought on top of the spire, on the mountain peak, underneath the King's precariously swinging cage – but he had always imagined a vast throne room full of eerie statues, huge dribbly candles and a blood-drenched altar of skulls. At least one army of skeletons would be guarding it. The small but well ordered office he stood in, with its perfectly sorted bookshelf, was the least of his expectations.

“I'm so glad you could find the time to visit,” said the Ultimate Ghost as he crossed a 't' with his broad, flowing handwriting. The quill and scroll were far too small for his hands but it didn't seem to inconvenience him. 

“I hardly say I have much time!” said Samuel, wiping the cobwebs, ectoplasm and bat guano from his armour, “I was told that you knew something of my King's disappearance, and that you would aid me in rescuing him. I do not know your motive, but I would work with anyone if it means my King returns safe and sound.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” replied the Ghost, putting his quill down and regarding him with coldly burning eyes, “And I will be honest with you. I will not pretend we are friends. You 'heroes' cause me a lot of trouble – you damage my property, you steal from me, you murder my employees in cold blood and you think yourselves virtuous for it. But you are a reliable and competent warrior, you have an appreciation of realms other than the mundane, and I respect you for keeping Diggory safe.” 

“You dare address His Highness the King of Laplaza by his first name?” Samuel's brow furrowed and his eyes clouded, his hand reaching to his sword.

“I mean no disrespect. My relationship with your King is... not what you believe it to be,” he said, “I will have to ask you to swear a vow of secrecy. This knowledge must not leave my office. The only other who knows is the Archfiend... and Diggory himself, I suppose. You have secrets of your own, such as your clandestine meeting with the enemy, so I'm sure you understand the need to keep such secrets.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No, just exchanging favours,” he said, “You see, I am like you. You wish to remain a respected Paladin and Captain of the Guard, and this has become somewhat of an impossibility lately, because of the actions of others. I wish to remain Final Guardian of this facility, and yet the Guild say I do not produce results quickly enough, and that my methods of dealing with adventurers are too much of a soft touch, so they have threatened to demote me and institute a new Final Guardian. I also wish to open a haberdashery, but thieves keep stealing my hats. And we both want the King to remain alive, and not in the hands of these thoroughly unpleasant people.”

“I apologise for the hat thievery. I can institute a law forbidding it.”

“I would have thought you understood why the first problem is more urgent. Your King is always returned alive. I have my own personal reasons for making sure this is so. A new Final Guardian, younger and more ambitious and nastier, most probably sideways-promoted from some far-off dungeon, with no interest in the private affairs of this Kingdom...”

“I get the picture, but... why in Spatula's name are helping the King at all? And how do you know such much about my situation?” 

“I have my own spies in the palace, Mr. Forstenzer. How do you think I sneak my ghosts in there? And, as I said, we Labyrinth Guardians know each other, the profession is highly organised on an interplanetary scale. We compete with each other for business opportunities, we all have spies on each other, we know where each other are are what we are doing at all times, or we lose face in the wider politics of the Guild. As for why I am helping your King... I do not feel ready to reveal the whole story to you quite yet. Only know that we are not enemies. Quite good friends, in fact. The 'abductions' are merely a cover-up for friendly meetings, similar to the ones we are having now, but more friendly, because we have known each other for longer, and we trust each other a lot more.”

“So, another... 'Labyrinth Guardian'... has my King?”

“More accurately, he has provided an opportunity for others to abduct him, a band of pirates, in exchange for their co-operation in freeing the throne for his own purposes. Mostly probably, they are double-crossing each other somehow. Neither of them are honourable.”

“Pirates? He's at sea?”

“Space pirates. Space, as in... the stars. The sky, but very deep into the sky, very far away.”

“The Celestial Plane?”

“Not the Realm of the Gods, but like another realm of existence - a very strange and confusing place. A realm that I have been to, in my astral travels as a powerful Lich, and can take you to.”

“And the other who works with them, who has the Throne... does that have something to do with the false King?”

“Indeed. You are perceptive to be able to see through it. It is a kind of science, but it works a little like blood magic. It creates an exact copy of the victim using only a drop of their blood for the information, and some kind of living matter to be the raw material. But they can't always behave accurately like the victim, especially if they have been trained to act differently in some way, to sabotage their intentions, such as usurping a throne.”

“How can I leave my Kingdom undefended from such evil, even to rescue my King?”

“The King is in the most immediate danger, and I believe we have time to rescue him before any of their plans start to fully take root. And, yes, I know who it is,” he said, “I wish it wasn't true, though. Wentworth alone I can handle, as long as he hasn't yet rallied an army. Mendel... they say that if he lands on a planet at all, that entire planet is already doomed. The two together... I can only hope they are pretending to co-operate in order to double-cross each other, and not truly banding together.”

“I never did trust either of those two men, but... the gardener is more dangerous than the warmonger?”

“Gardener? That's what he said he was? It is true in a way...” his laugh was as darkly morbid as his appearance, “But that was always his strength. Wentworth cannot be subtle, or hide anything about his intentions. Mendel will make you think he is your new best friend. Yes, you are a strong-willed man indeed, to see through his glamour.”

“I have divine protection,” said Samuel, “Now, please, take me to where my King is. I will keep your secret, if it means I can save him.”

“Then, you must accompany me to the ritual chamber,” he said, “Do not worry, you won't find any sacrificial altars waiting to be used. Not for you, or Diggory, or any other, not even my enemies. Wentworth's soul is worthless, and Mendel... he is so dangerous, if I spilled his blood, I would burn anything that has been tainted with it.”


	7. King Diggory's Exciting Space Battle

While he sipped his tea, King Diggory watched the space battle with a mixture of excitement and trepidation through the bars of his cage. The pirates charged with guarding him, bored at his lack of attempts to escape and more interested in the possibility of their ship being blown up, were crowded around a small viewing terminal, cheering or booing, depending on which side they had placed bets on: the Gold Bone Battleship or the combined armies of the Space Police Mii Force. 

Worryingly, their attempts to use Diggory as a hostage had failed, not because they believed they could rescue him, but because they flatly refused to believe the pirates had an important prisoner. Apparently, they were always bluffing that they had taken a valuable hostage and it always turned out to be Skully in a wig. The Mii Force were now of the opinion that they weren't even competent enough pirates to capture anybody important. The brave pilots of the Mii Force, in their tiny spherical ships with a bizarre array of weapons installed on them, had surrounded the battleship and attacked it in full force, clearly aiming to destroy it. Homing missiles, bombs, laser cannons that created gravity wells, an electric lasso, a flame thrower and some kind of giant drone-guided buzzsaw all rained down on the ship. The pirate ship's shields flared up and the many missile launchers and laser cannons that covered the ship began firing in response. Some of the pirates ran to the shuttle bay and joined the fight in smaller ships that could keep up with the much faster Mii Force ships. Alarms blared, red lights flashed on and off, technicians ran back and forth yelling and screaming and pushing things on trolleys. Occasionally, the entire ship would shudder as it was hit by a particularly vicious salvo, and Diggory would have to hold the teapot firmly to stop it rolling across the floor and possibly breaking. He couldn't tell who was winning the battle, or what was happening at all, really. There seemed to be a lot of orbiting, changing direction, moving very slowly backwards and forwards, continuous firing and panicking. The crew very kindly explained what they could to him, but he didn't understand any of the technical terms. Other than that they were losing.

“We're probably all going to die,” said Skully, “But, on the bright side, I bet ten to one on us losing.”

“This is your fault!” snapped the pirate closest to him, “If you hadn't accidentally powered down the main cannon again...”

“But I was told to put the warp drive back online or my head would get used as a basketball again!”

“Not by unplugging the main cannon, you imbecile!”

“It wasn't my fault it was mislabelled!”

“I don't mislabel them, you keep getting the colour code wrong!”

Suddenly, an even larger explosion rocked the ship and Diggory fell over, still clutching the teapot. He was almost pitched straight into the laser bars but he managed to twist his body so that he only burned a hole in one of his boots rather than losing his legs. However, hot tea spilled all over him, causing him to yelp in pain.

“Shields are down! Hull breach!” someone screamed in the darkness. The lights had fizzled out.

“We won't make it! Evacuate!”

“And be caught by them? I'd rather take my chances here!”

“What the hell is that?”

Suddenly, there was a noise like a lightning strike, then a sudden flash of purple light. Diggory became aware of the presence of two extra people in the room. Both of them had familiar voices, one of them sounded very confused, the other was ten foot tall and glowed in the dark.

“Sir Forstenzer? Eug... Ultimate Ghost?” he cried, remembering just in time not to use the Ghost's private name in front of the Paladin.

“My King! I'm here to rescue you!” cried Samuel, clanking forwards. Eugene reached out and pulled him back with one hand.

“Don't swing your sword at that, it'll either ruin your sword or deflect lasers right into Diggory's face!” the Ghost said, “I'll find the mechanism and break it. You concentrate on the fight!”

“Er... which ones are the pirates?”

“All of them.”

“Ah, okay,” Samuel cleared his throat, “Foul blackguards, prepare to meet your penance! You have been judged for your crime of royal abduction and found guilty!”

“Repel boarders! YARR!” roared Skully. Blades flashed in the dark, occasionally lit up by a bolt of holy fire being flung across the room or another laser beam hitting the now heavily damaged ship.

“Please hurry up! I don't think this ship is going to stay intact for much longer!” cried Diggory. A girder nearly hit him on the head, then the laser bars fizzled out. He wondered if Eugene had deactivated the fence or it had been knocked out by that last attack. Even though he was relieved to have his freedom, he found himself unable to stand up without an explosion knocking him back down, and he soon realised that he was in the safest corner of the room for a non-combatant right now. Nobody dared risk damaging the tea set!

Eugene reappeared, idly grabbing two of the pirates in his wicked claws on the way in and throwing them bodily down the corridor, “We need to leave now, you two! I'm casting the planar travel spell!”

“But these miscreants must be punished! What if they just abduct the King again?”

“With their ship in this condition? They'll be out of commission for years. This is an expensive ship, and I think they're all about to be arrested by the police. If the authorities show that kind of mercy around here. Besides, we have problems of our own back home,” Eugene reminded him.

“Why, what's happening back home?” demanded the King.

“It's a long story,” said Eugene, offering his hand and smiling as best as he could with a face like the gaping maw of Hell.

Five minutes later, there was a bright purple flash and the three of them were gone. Thirty seconds after that, the blackness of space was lit up by a rather pretty and impressive explosion.


	8. Wentworth's Army

Inside the Kingdom of Laplaza, a great army was amassing.

Tens of thousands of soldiers stood in perfectly organised ranks in the barracks outside the city, the ones that had grown up as fast as the thorn bowers that protected them. Units of spearmen, cavalry and archers sharpened their weapons and trained rigorously under the merciless eyes of Wentworth and his three Generals. Every man and woman able to pick up a spear or a bow was press-ganged overnight, and the vast, fearsome tribes of cat-people had been paid vast sums of money to fill up the ranks, almost draining the palace coffers. The Adventurer's Guild was also drafted, at great expense, and every adventurer pulled from their duties in protecting the Kingdom from everyday threats such as the Undead fiends (although nobody had heard much from them in a while). Complaints were made at the great injustices suddenly inflicted on the people but the King, who seemed to have completely changed in personality overnight, had passed all the laws that Wentworth required him to, in order to turn Laplaza into an unstoppable military force. Soon the people broke out into open rioting. Then the gardener with the friendly smile and the open, honest face appeared in the town square, peddling his wares, and the rioting stopped after that. In fact, the townspeople seemed to calm down at once. The day after, they lost their strangely languid feeling of contentment and suddenly found themselves filled with a seemingly unquenchable battle morale. They all bought one of the little plants that grew seed heads sharp enough to serve as sword blades, as well as other plants that sat in their houses and gave off a soft glow that cheered them up at night, and whose strange perfume took the edge off their insecurities. They soon began to trust their King again; while he had changed dramatically in personality, he appeared in public more and had improved in his ability to make inspiring speeches. As he had explained to them, the changes that had been made were in response to genuine threats from invading armies all over the continent, and even from the marauders to the East with their terrifying dragon-ships. The only hope for the small but hardy Kingdom of Laplaza was a pre-emptive shock strike.

From his command tent atop the highest hill, overlooking the entire barracks, Supreme General Wentworth idly inspected his troops. He had spent all day co-ordinating their overall strategy with gentle flicks of his fan. They were good warriors but still needed to practice moving cohesively, drawn from so many different sources as they were. Now it was growing dark, he was trying to decide whether he should order them to take a rest or to train them in the art of night ambushes. 

He was taken quite aback at the unscheduled large explosion in the night sky. 

Suddenly, he heard Mr. Mendel's pleasant, sing-song voice behind him, as charming and deadly as the Fey. Nobody else could sneak up on Wentworth, but it was impossible to tell where Mr. Mendel was at any one moment.

“Things aren't going to plan,” he said.

“Trouble with our interplanetary contacts?”

“Even worse. The King survived, and he is here, somewhere very close. My plants can sense him. And he has powerful friends, people who have never seen eye to eye with me.”

“Perhaps this would be a good time to test out my army's effectiveness in a real conflict.”

“And alert everyone to what's going on? This is more of a time for subtlety. Can your ninja division be trusted?”

“They are comprised of my most loyal men. They would do anything I ask them to. And I gave them a heavier dose of your dream-plants.”

“Send them, then. I will confirm the location. I must go and protect the plant nursery. It is our most important resource. All our plans hinge on my ability to make this environment my own.”

“Very well. I only hope the extra use of resources will not upset the balance too much,” he said. 

Once Wentworth had started off down the hill to try and find out where his ninjas had gotten to – it could be so hard to spot them – and Mr. Mendel had disappeared back to his gardens, the ghost left its motionless state and drifted out of the hollow tree. Ninjas... pathetic... the little ghost didn't understand why anyone would hire a live, corporeal being for a stealth mission. Replaying the conversation over and over again in his mind so that he could be sure to memorise it and play it back accurately to his master, he floated away across the hills and into the forest. 

The Armoured Archfiend met him in the forest clearing where important meetings always happened. The scout ghost was rewarded his danger money and told to take the rest of the day off and make everyone a cup of tea. Then the Archfiend reported back to the Ultimate Ghost, who was in his office with Samuel and the King, formulating a plan of attack.

“Attacking the plant nursery would be the most effective tactic,” said Eugene, “We can't fight an entire army, especially if it contains our own people, and it sounds like Mendel already has the entire population under his illusion. However, if Mendel is guarding it personally, it would mean fighting him directly. I'm not sure I would win such a battle. If it was just me, I wouldn't risk it, but the three of us together have a better chance. Of course, his plants will also fight back, so I am taking a squadron of ghosts and smaller Reapers that I can sneak through the woods undetected. They can crowd-control for us while we handle Mendel.”

“He sounds like a very powerful enemy,” said the King, “I would have expected Wentworth to be involved in this kind of evil, but that gardener seemed like such a nice man.”

“That's what he wants everyone to think,” said Eugene, “He manipulates everyone in the Guild, on a global scale. There are far more powerful people in the Guild than even Mendel, though. He must be planning to use Laplaza as leverage for some political goal within the Guild.”

“I don't see why we have to take the King into this battle,” said Samuel, “I did not rescue him just to endanger his life again.”

“You don't really understand much about Kings, do you? A King is bound to his home soil as well as its people. It is an old magic that makes someone a King in spirit, not just in letter. Mendel would never have been able to control the plants here if he hadn't created a false King. Just by being there, Diggory will be able to dispel the illusion faster, and I don't think the invading plants will thrive for long once it is made clear who is the real King.”

“Don't worry, Samuel, I trust Eugene to protect me almost as much as I trust you. With both of you working together, by your side is the safest place for me to be!”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, you aren't always the most reliable judge of character...”

“As I said, it is a rare ability to resist being charmed by Mr. Mendel. A man can't be blamed for being taken in by his wiles,” said Eugene.

“I am, as ever, your loyal servant,” said Samuel, bowing to the King, “I defer to your judgment.” 

“We set off tonight, then, as soon as the scouts are in place. Tonight I reclaim my Kingdom!”


	9. Mendel's Garden

The garden looked beautiful under the stars. Soft silver moonlight reflected in ripples across the surface of the gently trickling fountains, where tiny orange fish leapt and played. Avenues of giant Goldenglows with bulbs the size of street lamps lined the passageways between the garden, Neonaras grew in carefully shaped hedges that spelled out words such as 'welcome' and 'hello', Sparklestars were sprinkled like showers of golden starlight at the borders of the garden. The light refracted from the dazzling colours draped across the gardens, vibrant blue Meadowlarks, bright red Combriana, softer sky-blue Thaumantius, pastel yellow Trailing Pinhweels, golden orange Ottoman's Hat, deep purple Crema Belle, mysterious black Rosa Regalis. The garden did not sleep at night, but became more alive with no people apart from Mr. Mendel and his most trusted head gardeners to watch them. The Sunset Snappers swayed and made strange chattering noises to each other as they pounced at anything that moved, be it insect, shadow or mote of light. 

They were restless. They knew someone was coming, and that something bad was about to happen. 

Mr. Mendel sat on an ornately wrought iron bench, its arms and legs curled as though it was a single piece, painted the same green as the vines that wrapped around it, flowering into bright pink and yellow bell-shaped cups. Life-like iron statues of birds, insects and small animals such as mice and squirrels decorated his arboreal throne, giving it the appearance of constantly moving life that he loved so much. He did so enjoy it when a world became more full of life, especially when it was the life he himself had spent so many hours lovingly creating. Of course, sometimes a lot of death was necessary to promote even more life, like tearing out weeds that were choking other new growth. It became even more important to know what sacrifices to make on a small scale when you were working on a much larger scale. Still, he hated it when his peace and quiet was about to be ruined.

Especially by intruders in his garden.

“Come out, Eugene, I know you're in there!” he snapped, irritated. There was no point pretending that he incapable of being anything other than polite and friendly around someone like Eugene. Such subtleties were lost on clumsy poltergeists.

“I suspected as much. Do you know who else is with me?”

“A hero-adventurer, of all things. Honestly, how could you? And another. One you really shouldn't have brought here. Probably other trivial beings, as well.”

“I'm deeply hurt by your opinion of the little souls under my care. Would you have called them trivial beings if it was one of your plants?”

“Plants think of themselves as part of a whole, no matter how individually or intricately they were tailored to meet their purpose within that whole. Ghosts don't even belong in the world of the living.”

“I don't need lessons in ecology from a professional destructive terraformer. Drop the façade. Give my friend his Kingdom back.”

“Ah, so the rumours are true. You really do side with the enemies of our Guild, fairly overtly now, I see.”

“Says the man who is openly intruding upon the territory assigned to me by the Guild.”

“It is justified by our law if I can prove that you are unfit to run your dungeon...”

“Labyrinth,” he interrupted sharply.

“... Unfit to run your dungeon, and that I have the resources and experience to expand my own territory to cover two dungeons. I'm an ambitious man, Eugene, but this is not a crime.”

“Then I'll prove to you I can run my labyrinth, and protect my territory, just fine, thank you very much,” said Eugene, snapping his fingers. Ghosts rose from the ground and Reapers swarmed out of the shadows. The plants fought back immediately and soon the air was alive with screeching, snapping, wailing and tearing. Soil, sap, ectoplasm and bone flew in all directions. In such a close skirmish, with such a sudden, vicious ambush, there was no subtlety, except when the Undead forces retreated from view and the plants fell quiet again, so that Eugene could not tell when and where they would suddenly spring to life, whipping out with sharp, venomous thorns. 

Mr. Mendel smiled and extended his hand towards Eugene. The ghost immediately covered his face and torso with his huge clawed hands to protect them from the stream of vines that shot towards him. He grabbed and pulled, dragging Mr. Mendel towards him. 

“What are you going to do? Crush me in your fist? I've been growing clones, one in each galactic trading hub, and I can regrow all this. I can grow overnight a dungeon twice as complex as yours. You would have to destroy this world in order to keep me from it, and you wouldn't do that. Right now, your companions are in danger, but you're wasting your time fighting me.”

“You're not in a trading hub right now,” said Eugene, “Do you know how I know? Because what you're doing on this planet is entirely illegal on an already settled planet, and there's a huge Mii Force detachment after you. They've already taken down the pirates you hired to do your dirty work for you. If you've been hiding out in their lair, I'd go and clear your clones out of there.”

“That's impossible! Mii Force is too understaffed to mount a full offensive! Where did they get the people?” The man looked a little disappointed, as though Eugene was a violent, disruptive pupil who had failed to respond better to a more kindly teacher. That kicked-puppy look had always been the hardest to shrug off. Even a Lich Lord wasn't invulnerable to mental persuasion, not at the level of mastery practised by Mr. Mendel. Eugene averted his eyes a little, sacrificing accuracy he didn't really need in order to keep hold of the gardener. 

Over the furious snapping of the Sunset Snappers and the battle-wails of the ghosts, Eugene heard a song playing somewhere nearby, clear and radiant as an angelic fanfare in minor, dark and beautiful, solemn and unstoppable.

Wentworth heard the song too, and saw the flames in the eyes of the Paladin who sang the tune at the top of his powerful operatic voice as he advanced, a look of rhapsody on his face at the knowledge that his Goddess was about to feast. The ninjas were already dead, Wentworth knew. Sir Forstenzer's sword, blessed by Spatula to only break or be dropped on the day and time that the Lady chose for him, ran red with their blood. The night was not a cloak against the living fire of Spatula that burned entire empires to the ground. The strategist peered over at the gardens, trying to spot Mr. Mendel. That gardener always knew what to do. Wentworth didn't really understand why. Maybe he was Fey. He couldn't see Mr. Mendel. The flashing lights were back in the sky, darting and weaving. A brighter point of light rose into the sky from the gardens, flared a brilliant emerald, then vanished.

“King Diggory? I'm afraid we've run into a slight problem...” called Wentworth. His voice trailed off as a figure appeared behind him. It wasn't Mendel's Diggory, the radiant-eyed madman with a taste for blood. It was the old King Diggory. He mostly just looked lost. A lot of people followed him out of the darkness, also looking lost and weary and as though they shouldn't be there.

Wentworth suddenly began to wonder if he should still be there, and if he should ever have been there at all.


	10. LaPlaza's Celebration

The Kingdom of Laplaza was hit badly, both financially and in terms of morale, by its sudden and brief war preparations. Large amounts of its national funding had gone to the pointless hiring of large numbers of now rather dissatisfied mercenaries, the effect of the mind-altering plant spores and plant-based potions on the townspeople meant that many of the traders couldn't recover in time to do their jobs straight away, and the neighbouring Kingdoms remained distrustful of Laplaza for a while to come. However, jubilant that their true King had returned unharmed, and that the three members of the foul conspiracy were defeated, the Laplazan people soon regained their hope and worked hard to rebuild their nation. Mr. Mendel had fled under mysterious circumstances, the fake King was found dead in the middle of the garden, his brain completely burned out (Eugene later explained to Diggory that Mr. Mendel had deactivated the clone to hide all evidence of his illegal activities before he retreated entirely from the solar system), but Wentworth had been captured. He was later banished permanently from Laplaza in a ceremony that was but one of the festivals Diggory threw to improve the Kingdom's morale. It was likely that Wentworth would simply go somewhere else and try to raise an army again, probably with the intention of having his revenge against Laplaza. It was a day that Diggory was prepared for. He tried to stall the day by having messengers sent everywhere on the continent to tell them of the insane strategist who consorted with black magicians, brought Kingdoms to ruin and didn't even manage to carry out his evil plans. He also encouraged adventurers to look elsewhere to find evil to slay, somewhere more Guild-approved, as Eugene probably needed a rest after all that fighting, and it was unlikely he would be up to capturing Diggory. 

“That said, you two really need to have a proper talk, one that includes me,” said Sir Forstenzer as they sat at the gazebo in the garden - a normal garden with ordinary flowers in it – and enjoyed tea and cake, “I don't know what in Spatula's name you two are doing when everyone else is having a heart attack thinking you're being sacrificed to an evil God, but it's very ungrateful of you, and it looks very suspicious.”

“I do apologise,” said King Diggory, “I just... I need to wait until the right time, until I can tell someone. I don't know if I'm ready to tell anyone, and I'm worried nobody here is really ready to take the news.”

“If this is something I need to know in order to protect you, then I'll shoulder any burden. I've been exiled from Laplaza for you. I've surrendered to the one I thought was my worst enemy. At least tell me what it is you want me to do for you now.”

“I apologise for that, as well,” he bowed his head, “You should not have had to go through such a thing for me. I'm being a coward. I wasn't a coward when the pirates abducted me, or when I confronted the false King. You're right – we shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other. You're not the type of person who would judge me for my actions, not once I prove I haven't done any harm to anyone. But I can't trust anyone else in the palace. You must keep this secret as well as Eugene and I, understand?”

“I've already kept too many secrets for this 'Eugene', and learned far more than I wanted to know about the Guild politics of evil villains,” he smiled. Then his expression darkened, “I need to apologise as well. It was presumptuous of me to make demands of my King. Everyone has their secrets. Nobody can know everything of another's life, no matter how close they are.”

“I mean it, though. If you want to know, I'll tell you. Just ask me any time,” said the King. He tilted the teapot and frowned as tea failed to pour from the spout. Stacking the tray neatly, he balanced it on his arms and wandered back into the palace.

“You have people to do that for you, you know!” Samuel called.

“No time. Tea emergency!” came the perfectly serious reply. The Paladin shook his head. He had the feeling that the King would never entirely learn to trust the palace staff, if only because he forgot they even existed most of the time. As the royal bodyguard, he supposed he should follow the King to make sure nothing happened to him. You never knew. Nobody was entirely safe, even just wandering around their garden. 

“Everyone has their secrets,” he told an overhanging magnolia tree, “And I'm a coward, too. The biggest coward in an order of highly organised religious cowards, in fact. I can't even tell you how close I want to be to you. I want to be the person you really can confide all your secrets to, or at least the closest thing there can be. I can fight an army of ninjas single-handedly, but I can't admit my feelings to the one I care about. Bah, Spatula have mercy on this soul!”

Dismissing the whole thing with a shrug of disgust, he went to help King Diggory, who had already re-appeared with a fully restocked tea tray. He did not notice the translucent spectral figure who flitted out of a nearby tree trunk, melted through the wall and darted away from the palace, towards the dark forest wherein the Grand Crypt Labyrinth lay.


End file.
